A courtesy in smiles
A nod to welcome aire
And of the morning
Speaks a voice for all to hear
But wakeful eyes descent
Must flutter past the young man's honor
To do thy justice which befits
The man who's house is father
Is not my head unbowed
And my title earned with ev'ry scar?
Have I not been patient
Through the tides of ev'ry scorn?
If knuckles bled in truth
Then blood stained would be the very fountain
Whos lips doth drink
From the flow beneath the mountain
And earned the cherry red
Whos kiss had once been placed
Becomes the apple of an eye
Who has never known the taste